


One Tradition Too Many

by EldritchTribble



Category: Star Trek: The Next Generation
Genre: 1x11: Haven, Arranged Marriage, Episode Related, F/F, Fluff and Angst, Holodecks/Holosuites, Non-Graphic Violence, Pining, Resolved Romantic Tension, malfunctions both technical and communicative
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-23
Updated: 2017-09-23
Packaged: 2019-01-04 12:28:25
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,619
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12168885
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EldritchTribble/pseuds/EldritchTribble
Summary: None too happy about the prospect of Deanna Troi getting married, Tasha Yar pays a visit to the holodeck.





	One Tradition Too Many

_"Captain's personal log. I trust my concern over the problems of ship's Counselor Troi are not based merely on losing a highly valuable crew member. But it seems to me that she is trapped by a custom of her home world which the facts of the 24th century life have made unwise and unworkable. I wish I could intervene."_

* * *

 

Lieutenant Yar’s hands are trembling enough to throw off her aim.

Clenching them into defiant fists and turning to face her opponent once again, she wipes her brow unsteadily and curses. The hologram senses an opening and barrels toward her in convincing, if synthetic, rage. As her adversary begins once again to throw punches, and even to land one or two, Tasha finds herself regretting disengaging the holodeck’s safety controls. Immediately, she shakes off the notion: how better to solve a particularly thorny problem than in the company of danger, her oldest and most steadfast friend?

Tasha wonders if Deanna would have told her about the arrangement herself, or whether she would have had to hear about it in Ten Forward a week later like everyone else. Earlier that day, by sheer chance, she was monitoring a scanner right outside Captain Picard’s ready room while he composed a log entry about it. Once her shift was over, she canceled her sparring session with Worf, muttering vague nothings about not feeling well enough, and headed straight for the holodeck. She needed to think, and she did not wish to risk injuring a real live opponent in the process.

The blows flow fast and hard, falling into a steady syncopated rhythm. Tasha deflects and counters with an untutored ease that borders on the instinctual. Her knuckles are bruised; pinpricks of sweat dot her brow. The latter has little to do with any physical exertion.

Her holographic opponent soon lies crumpled on the floor, puny and spent. Between ponderous, satisfied breaths, Tasha pieces together the remainder of her plan. She would do everything she could to intervene where protocol dictated that the Captain not do so. Of course, protocol was also far from silent about her interfering...but not if she were to resign her commission first.

Captain Picard would be devastated, and worse - he would be gravely disappointed in her. Nevertheless, she had a much more immediate concern: losing Deanna to one tradition too many.

Tasha’s spartan surroundings flicker, the gold-and-black grid wobbling at confused angles. She pays the glitch little notice, since La Forge mentioned that he would be running some experiments in engineering. As she collects her belongings, she begins ever so slightly to worry - her commands to end the program go unobeyed. Meanwhile, the grid has started folding in on itself like cake batter.

Just as she prepares to comm the Captain, her situation improves - albeit in a way that raises questions about the nature of Geordi’s experiments. She finds herself standing on a grassy knoll, underneath a willow tree, dappled shadows playing on her hair and uniform. Fancifully dressed holograms stroll past, talking of this and that. Despite a frantic series of taps, her combadge refuses to respond.

Lacking a preferable option, Tasha decides to investigate further.

Pressing on through the sylvan lushness, she finds few answers. The holograms provide little in the way of context: those who were programmed with more than a few lines of dialogue insist only that her arrival was prophesied for centuries. Curious, Tasha thinks. She tries not to ascribe more meaning to it than a simple holodeck malfunction, but perhaps it is a good omen. Perhaps her plan will actually work.

Tasha gazes down at her combadge, imagining Picard’s reaction when she tells him. Slowly, gradually, with a certain heartsickness, she resolves to cross that bridge when she comes to it. There are a few things in life more important than Starfleet commissions, after all.

She soon comes across a clearing, complete with mirrored pond and blanket of wildflowers. In its center stands what she assumes to be an alabaster statue in the Hellenistic style. The workmanship is so exquisite, so true to life that Tasha wonders if she just saw it move. Stranger things have happened in holosuites, she reflects with a grin.

One of the “statue’s” arms gracefully unfurls itself.

“I am the goddess of empathy!” declares the statuesque woman, her back to Tasha. Cautiously, the lieutenant halts her approach.

“...Deanna?”

Sure enough - the hologram turns around, revealing herself as a perfect simulacrum of the ship’s counselor, were she ever to wear such a rich gossamer gown. Tasha would not put it past her, given the profusion of beautiful clothes in Deanna’s closet.

“Lay your worries at my feet!” she entreats with a generous open-armed gesture. Lieutenant Yar hopes against all hope that this is a freak result of La Forge overclocking the holo-emitters, rather than an actual feature of someone’s program. She is acutely aware of having more than enough competition as it is. If another crew member were to harbor a crush on Counselor Troi, Tasha did not know if she could handle it diplomatically.

“Hold nothing back! Let nothing trouble you again! I will hear you and understand, and sympathize!”

A siren song if she ever heard one. Tasha feels her resistance to the situation slipping.

Sighing, she gazes at the hologram that is obviously not Counselor Troi in any way, and yet...and yet.

She admits to herself that this is not, strictly speaking, the worst program to be lost in.

*

After a time, a faint hiss of hydraulics disturbs Tasha’s reverie. She dismisses it at first, thinking it only a sudden gust of simulated wind. The grass is springy and welcoming, and she sees no reason to get up from her bed of wildflowers just yet. At least, not while a hologram that looks suspiciously like Deanna Troi is carding gentle fingers through her hair and humming softly.

Only when an unmistakable voice starts calling her name does Tasha concede that she might need to investigate.

Just as she prepares to disentangle herself from the embrace of the “goddess of empathy”, another Deanna Troi emerges into the clearing. Since this one is wearing a Starfleet uniform and an anxious expression, Tasha is fairly certain that she is not dealing with another hologram.

“Tasha? What are you doing in here? What on - ?” Deanna trails off, beholding the scene in front of her with bemusement and awe. Her holographic counterpart offers her a benign smile.

Panicking, scrambling to her feet, blushing furiously, Tasha does the first - indeed, the only - thing that comes to mind. “Computer, end program,” she manages to blurt out.

“Unable to comply,” replies the computer primly.

Tasha curses under her breath. “Computer, initiate site-to-site transport -“

“Belay that order!” Deanna intones with an edge that makes Tasha cringe.

“Deanna...”

“You’re not going anywhere until you tell me what’s going on here.”

Tasha nods apologetically as she ushers Deanna out of the clearing. Sunset begins painting the holographic sky a vivid orange. Tasha gestures vaguely at their surroundings, cataloguing the idyllic beauty around them without absorbing it emotionally.

“This isn’t actually my program,” explains Tasha, if only to drive the point home. She thanks any and all higher powers that Deanna can tell whether or not she is lying.

“That’s not what I meant when I asked you what was going on,” Deanna replies, her tone much calmer than before. “Why are you so unhappy? I could sense it from three decks away.”

Tasha stops dead in her tracks. If she were to be honest with herself, she had not exactly been subtle earlier...even someone without Betazoid capabilities could have sensed it as she hastened off the bridge, thrumming like an ion in a storm.

“Look, Deanna, here’s the thing,” she began, clearing her throat. “I’m not exactly thrilled about you leaving the _Enterprise_ and marrying someone you just met.” Deanna nodded at this, not meeting Tasha’s eyes. “Is it so terrible that a comfortable illusion sprung up around me and I let myself rest awhile?”

 _Yes_ , Tasha reflects, thinking of how little she has learned since she used to abuse narcotics.

“Yes,” agrees Deanna, to Tasha’s surprise.

“I...wasn’t expecting you to say that. Why?” inquires Tasha, turning to face the counselor, who returns her gaze without the merest suggestion of doubt.

“Because you never asked for the real thing,” Deanna explains, as if to a beloved child. Soft hands, unmistakably real, rise to cradle Tasha’s cheeks, then gently guide her in for a kiss.

*

“So I don’t need to beam down to the planet and ruin your wedding after all?”

Deanna chuckles and pulls Tasha’s arms tighter around her. All told, the couch in her quarters is far from comfortable, but neither of them feel inclined to visit the holodeck again anytime soon.

“Tasha, Wyatt Miller has already left with the woman in his drawings! You should have seen his relief when he beamed off the ship.” With great authority, the counselor takes another sip of hot chocolate. “He’s a good person and his family was always close with mine, but this was one tradition too many. For all involved.”

Their eyes meet, sharing a wealth of understanding.

“Just what I was thinking,” replies Tasha, taking Deanna’s hand and squeezing tenderly.

“Also,” Troi adds, almost as an afterthought, “I reminded Wyatt’s mother that our marrying would mean having _my_ mother as part of the family.”

Tasha bursts out laughing, soon to be followed by Deanna. They order more hot chocolate from the replicator through fits of mirth, then collapse against each other once more on the couch.

A new tradition in the making if there ever was one, Tasha reflects with a smile.


End file.
